Disappearances
by daymarket
Summary: Sodapop receives a letter from Sandy after five years of silence and disappears. Years later, Sodapop appears at Ponyboy's doorstep, sick and having killed a man. Bad summary, please review!
1. Chapter 1

Things have never been right since for us in the years after Johnny's death. Bit by bit, we've drifted away over the years. Darry and I still live where we used to, but the rest are all gone. Steve was packed into jail for a couple years, having hotwired some rich Soc car. Two-Bit Matthews settled down, found himself a girl (Jess) who managed to jostle him into the right side of the law, and moved way out to New York City. I still remember our last conversation, even though it was years ago.

"I envy you, Ponyboy. You and Sodapop."

"Why?" I had asked then, leaning against the hood of Jess's tuff car. It was red and sleek, almost reminding me of a panther. It just felt like it wanted to run away, not controlled by anyone or anything.

"Because," Two-Bit answered, taking a deep drag on his cigarette. Lowering it, he said, "Darry's always been there, and you've always stuck together. Through anything. After Mam died, I've just felt, you know, like something was missing." He looked away, embarrassed to be so emotional. "Sure, you've got rough moments, but in the end, you're always together."

It was a moment that you don't ever forget. I had nodded, we had said our goodbyes, and Two-Bit and Jess had left for New York City the next day. I haven't seen him since, and I didn't give much thought to what he had said at that time. It was nice, but not too important. Until, of course, the letter came.

We hadn't heard from Sandy for ages, not since Sodapop's letter got returned to him, unopened. Sodapop was standing in the kitchen, smelling like gasoline from the station where he worked, searching through the mail, and going through his usual routine. "Junk, bills, something from the horse-track, junk—"

The letters all fell to the ground and he fell silent as he flipped over the last letter in the pile. "It's a letter from Sandy," he said finally, staring at me. I stood then, setting my math book down on the table. "It's from Louisiana."

He ran into his room, shutting the door behind him. I gave him an hour or so to read the letter, then went to knock on the door. "Soda, you okay?"

There wasn't an answer, so I tried the doorknob. It was locked. "Soda, what is it? Soda, are you okay?" When there wasn't an answer, I went around the back and tried to hit his window with a rock. Maybe he was just asleep. The rock broke the window all right, but it didn't do much else good. "Soda! Sodapop Curtis, this isn't funny!"

When there still was no answer, I ran back inside and dialed the racetrack where Darry worked. There was a woman on the other end who sounded like she had smoked one too many cigarettes and was in the middle of something important. "No, honey, I don't know about no Darrel Curtis. You wanna bet or not? Next race's in an hour."

"No!" I yelled into the phone. "This is really important. Darrel Curtis. Can't you just check the lists—"

"Hey, you bet, or you leave. Pick one, kid!"

At that point I left, dropping the phone to dangle from its tether and deciding to take one last try at the door. It was still locked, so I tried picking the lock like Two-Bit taught me. I must've done something wrong, because I was still at it when Darry came home half an hour later. "Ponyboy, what's wrong?" he had asked. "Did you get locked out of your room?"

My words came out in a big hasty rush as I explained what had happened. I don't know if Darry actually understood half of it, but he just stood up and slammed the door. The flimsy lock snapped apart with a crack under Darry's 240 pounds of pure muscle, and we ran in, stepping over the rubble of glass and rusty metal. Sodapop wasn't there. Darry swore under his breath as he picked up the piece of notebook paper lying on the bed. His expression was angry, angrier than I've ever seen him before. "Damn it!" he screamed then before dropping the letter and running out the door.

With trembling fingers I gingerly picked up the letter. Sodapop still hadn't learned to punctuate or spell that well, but the meaning was clear enough. _Sandy mailed me,_ it began. _Her grandma died of a heart attack last month and Sandys nineteen so she don't want to go back to her parents and she says the babys mine. She's in Luisiana with her brother and she wants me to go to her. It ain't that far so I'l be back in a month or so. Don't worry about me. Sodapop._

That was four years ago.


	2. Chapter 2

I wrote the first chapter for an English assignment and decided to post it, but so many people reviewed I HAD to write a new chapter. Of course, I had planned to for a while, seeing the summary, but really didn't have the heart. Oh well.

This chapter is not very good, next will be better!

Reviews!

Hahukum Konn: Sodapop's been…somewhere.

The intro was something I'd slaved over for about a week. This was typed up after a couple weeks of procrastinating :) Next will be better!

lady rose 05: I didn't exactly update soon but here's the second chapter!

Hawaiichick: Yeah, I hate it when people try to blow characters out of…well, character. Hope I keep to it!

digidestened7: Thank you!

Faes One: Here you go!

Trinity Anya: Ooh, how special! Thanks, Trinity!

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_Sandy was smiling at him uncertainly, fists bunched tightly into her cornflower blue dress. Why was she wearing that dress, anyway? Sodapop thought, feeling a strange emotion well up inside him. It was nice with her eyes, but she was a greaser. Greaser girls didn't wear dresses, at least not the kind that went all the way down to your toes._

"_Sodapop?" she asked._

_Something was different. Maybe it was her voice, or the way she looked at him._

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It was dark in the house when I pulled up into the driveway. Opening the door a crack, I called, "Darry?"

There was a grunt as the light flicked on. Darry was on the couch, unshaven, dark eyes fixed on mine. "You're late," he said, his tone unreadable.

"Well, I'm here now," I said. "You should go to sleep, Darry. You look like you fell off a ladder. Everything okay?"

"_I'm_ fine," he said sharply. "The thing is you, Ponyboy. You worry me when you come in late, don't you understand? You could disappear, just like Sodapop, and—" He took a deep breath, struggling to control himself. "I just don't want that to happen."

"I'm not going to run away," I said wearily. "Darry, I know you're worried, but I would never run away." _Not if it means you would completely fall apart,_ I added silently. "I promise."

We had this conversation every time I was home even ten minutes late, which didn't happen very often these days. Sodapop's disappearance had hit us hard. Two-Bit and Jess had come over from NYC to help look, but they had to leave after a couple months because of Two-Bit's job. Darry took it the worst, though.

He waited about two weeks before he started climbing into his car and riding all the way around Louisiana. He even tried to post a notice on the Bureau of Missing Children, but they told him since that Sodapop was 19, he wasn't a child anymore. I hate those people. It was clear from the way they talked that they thought Sodapop had run away because Darry wasn't a good guardian.

He stopped looking eventually, and it hurt to watch him stop. It was as if he didn't _care_ anymore, about his jobs, about anything. The only thing he did care about these days was me, and he was so worried about losing me too he would get angry if I were ten minutes late. Like now. For a while, he didn't even want me to go to the community college twenty miles away because he'd thought I'd disappear just like Sodapop.

"I'm fine," I repeated. "Get some sleep. You've got work tomorrow."

Darry sighed, suddenly deflated and looking much older than he was. "I will," he said, standing up. Shuffling, taking tiny steps like an old man, he walked into his room and shut the door.

I sighed and went to the sink to wash the smell of car oil off my hands. I had work at a garage right after afternoon classes and came home smelling like grease and rubber. Moving back into the living room, I set my books down on the table with leftovers and began to work on my papers.

It was nearly two when I stopped, starting to see double images. The house was calm, sleepy, and the neighborhood was quiet. Packing away my stuff, I went into the kitchen to clean up.

And that's when I heard a thump.

You don't hear thumps like that every day, even in a greaser neighborhood. Our door was unlocked, and it's not like the cops had anything on us to come banging on our door. Darry stuck his head out of his room, looking for all the world like an owl, blinking at me. "What?" he said sleepily.

Walking over to the door, I swung it open, glancing out into the night. Darry padded into the living room, leaning against the wall. "Anyone out there, Ponyboy?" he asked, rubbing his hair.

"Nah," I answered. "Nothing out there except dogs and bats. It was probably—"

Fingers, slick and hot, latched around my ankle. I yelled, jumping back and tripping as the grip held me tight. Darry, eyes much more alert now, grabbed my pack and swung downwards onto—whoever was out there. There was a weak yell, and the fingers let go. Darry charged forward, roaring, "_Who are you?"_

He grabbed the person's arm and practically flung him into the house. The intruder was a man, looking to be about my age, scrawny as a stray dog. He landed thickly on his face with a crack and lay there moaning. Kneeling, Darry flipped him over and unceremoniously swiped the blood from the man's face. "Who are you?" he repeated fiercely.

The stranger looked at us with glazed eyes, fresh blood pouring from his nose. "I—" he whispered. "Darry…Ponyboy…"

And with that, he fainted.


	3. Chapter 3

Yeah, I'm a great procrastinator. I've been busy, working on my other fanfic, but I've gotten stuck on that one so decided to come back here and work a bit.

To my amazement, so many people still have this on their story alert list! Wow.

I'm going to try to work out a more regular schedule of updates for this story, so we'll see if I can stick some more regular chapters instead of once every billion years. And this plot is promising to turn out pretty cool, so if I have the time and can work around my other fanfic, I'd love to see how this can turn out.

Soo, anyhow, read and review and enjoy!…or was it read and enjoy and review…oh well.

Reviews!

**Faes One: **Yep, I'm hoping to install a more regular schedule of updates!

**BodomsGirl**: Will update faster!

**Stardust104**: Cliffhangers will continue to abound in this story for quite a bit, I think. It seems like it's going to turn out to be a cliffhanger tale.

**Maddie Cade**: Thanks! Who knew one could be so motivated by an English assignment?

**Smile because it happened:** I love your screen name! They don't react well…just keep on reading!

**Karlei Shaynner**: Well, this may not be really soon, but I have updated…finally!

**Horse1lover23**: I'm actually kind of surprised there were so many reviews for this. Didn't know the outsiders were so popular because they've been published for YEARS now.

**Trinity Anya**: Where have you been? Review!

**CountryPersonel**: Thanks!

**Its.Garnet.Time**: Yeah, but you know, what with Canale's little tests every other day and the writing assignment, it's a bit hard to like a book from an English class. Oh, well.

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_He felt so clumsy, so out of place. Awkwardly, he said, "Sandy…it's me. Sodapop."_

_She jumped at the sound of his voice, stepping away nervously. "Well, come in, I suppose," she said in a timid voice. "He's here."_

_His instincts screamed against it, but Sodapop entered anyway. It was a nice little house, neatly furnished. Sandy gestured for him to sit. "Mark?" she called in a quavering voice._

_Mark. A good, solid name. "How old is he?" Sodapop asked. "How old is…our son?"_

_She just looked at him, tears brimming at the corners of her eyes. "Sodapop…" she began._

_A large hand pushed her aside. "I'm Mark," the newcomer announced. Sodapop looked up in shock. It was a man, a huge, muscular man with a skull's head tattoo running down his shoulder._

_And he did not look happy._

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Darry stumbled backwards from the man. "Soda?" he whispered.

The stranger—Sodapop—didn't answer. I got a tissue and started scraping away the worst of the blood on Sodapop's face. "Darry, you didn't know," I began, then stopped when he raised a hand.

"I could have," he answered in a broken voice. He looked at me, a terrible look of pain twisting his face. Then, to my shock, he said, "Why is he here?"

I looked at him in surprise, a strange emotion twisting my insides. "Darry, what's the matter? It's _Soda!_ He's back!" Even to my own ears, my voice sounded squeaky. Fake, almost.

He got up, breathing hard. "Damn it, Ponyboy! He—he—" Darry gestured emphatically at Soda, then said, "He's dead. He's gone. Why is he—no! Why—why—why did he come back now? _Where was he?_"

Darry was almost screaming by then, breathing hard and fighting back tears. "Why did he come back?" he said in a softer voice. "Why did he leave?"

Sodapop moaned and stirred under my hand. "I bet something held him up," I said finally. "He would have come back if he could, Darry. He wouldn't have stayed away on purpose."

Darry dropped into a chair, his head in his hands. "I can't believe it," he said finally, his voice muffled.

Neither could I. Part of me wanted to slap Sodapop awake and start bashing the answers out of him one by one—where have you been? Why didn't you come back? What held you up? But another part—a tiny, sensible part—told me that it was better to wait. And much as I hated it, that part was getting bigger by the second.

A soft cry broke the uncomfortable silence. I jerked back in surprise as Sodapop twitched. His eyes fluttered open for a fraction of a second, gazing blindly into the distance, then closed again. He was muttering something.

I glanced up at Darry. He looked just as appalled as I felt. Uncertainly, he moved closer to Sodapop and touched his forehead. "He's sick," Darry said finally.

Together, we got him onto the sofa and put some blankets on him.

Neither of us got much sleep that night.

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When I woke up the next morning, Darry was already awake. He was standing at the window, and I could see the side of his face. His expression made my gut twist with pain, then anger. Anger at Darry, and anger at Sodapop.

It wasn't right. None of it.

I stood up. Darry turned slightly to catch me in his eye, then said in a low voice, "He woke up about an hour ago."

I glanced at Sodapop, who was now asleep. "And?"

Darry gave me a bitter, mocking smile. "He doesn't recognize me," he said with a sardonic laugh. "He thinks I'm some guy named Mark. Almost went ballistic, kept on screaming."

"And you didn't wake me up?" I said, feeling sick at the look on Darry's face. "How could I have slept through all that?"

He shrugged. "Guess you're a sound sleeper," he said quietly.

I hesitated. It was growing light out—I'd have to head out to school soon. "I could take a day off," I offered hesitantly. "I mean, Professor Bismarc would understand, I'm sure. And you've got work later."

Darry sighed and shook his head. "Go to school, Ponyboy," he said in a tired voice. "I'll be fine."

_I'll_ be fine. That's what he said. Not _we'll_ be fine.

"Darry—"

"Go, Ponyboy."

I knelt at Sodapop's side, hesitating, playing for time. He was so thin, and all those bruises couldn't just be from Darry's throw yesterday. No, they looked older. I pulled up his shirt and recoiled.

Somebody had beaten Soda. Badly, very badly. I looked up to meet Darry's eyes. "Who—" I began.

Darry gave me a vicious half-smile. There wasn't any need for words.

I gathered my books and left.


End file.
